To Save A Life
by Thewouldbeking
Summary: It was simple. An escape. A couple of runaways. Kill them and be done, they thought. But it wasn't, not really. And suddenly, a chase for freedom became so much more- a race for their lives. Stranded and lost among the vast land of snow, who will call their name in their time of need? Who will chase the path of red staining white? And to think they couldn't wait to be free.


Of Blood-Stained Snow

**Chapter 1: Golden and Grey **

**Word count: 2,731**

**Summary**: It was simple. An escape. A couple of runaways. Kill them and be done, they thought. But it wasn't, not really. And suddenly, a chase for freedom became so much more- a race for their lives. Stranded and lost among the vast land of snow, who will call their name in their time of need? Who will track down the drops of red staining the perfect white before they get lost during another snowfall? Post-Avengers. OCs.

**Warnings**: Violence, torture, possible lemon, descriptive scenes, implying situation, suicide, blood/gore, possible character death. Read at your own risk.

Gold. It was a colour he knew well, one locked into his memories. He could clearly remember running down the halls, the cool golden floor soft under his heels, like an ever-flowing river underneath his feet. The marvelous colour seemed almost never-ending; the only thing to remind him of its simplicity was his mother's voice, reprimanding him. Oh, how he adored that colour. Gold, shimmering and respected, something so beautiful it was almost surreal, like you'd have to touch it to be sure of its reality and hold it so it wouldn't disappear. He guessed that maybe that's what Thor meant when he told Loki, in the late hours of the night when sleep pulled him in like the tide, that he was golden. _"You are golden, Loki," _he would tell him. _"And you shine brighter than any sun, any moon." _Loki lost count of how many times he heard that, it was almost sad that he only now realized its meaning.

The colour meant many things for him throughout his life. When he was small, the colour gold was the sunshine, the morning rays of light pouring through the bars of his crib- which was a shock that he could remember that far back in his childhood. Golden was the colour of Thor's hair when the soft glow of candles illuminated his sleeping face. Gold was the bedspread he and his brother shared, the ones that Thor stole in his sleep.

In his teenage years, gold were the palace walls and basins, the sound of boots and armour. It was the hay he watched his horses eat. It was the adventure and chances he took, the pair of princes very different, but always together. Golden was Thor's laughter and smile, every time he hugged him before bed. It was his first kiss in the late summer evening and his last moment of breathlessness. The butterflies of spring time and the blankets in winter, gold was the happiness that consumed him, the feeling of belonging.

Then there came hatred, a dark green that seemed to consume him every time the clock ticked, and Mjolnir smashed against someone's armour in battle. It was the glare he shared between Sif, a memory of so long ago that started their silent battle between one another. It was jealousy for the man he knew he should never be jealous of, for he was far superior to, even if the other was destined to have the throne. It was the stares of pride his father gave Thor and not him, the feeling of disappointment when he would try a new spell only to have it fail. It was the feeling of knowing he wasn't adequate. Soon enough, green overtook gold, and drowned Loki in self-hatred and despair, the want and need to prove himself. No longer did a little boy steal his blankets, but, rather, he stole his pride. No longer did the rays of the sun greet him to another day to be free, but another day of exhaustion. Another day of silence on his part, following Thor around in his shadow. It was almost funny, really, how time seemed to flip the tables and situations to where it was now _exactly _the opposite of what life used to be like- whatever that was. He almost couldn't remember anymore. It seemed as though he could only remember darkness, the bad things that over-ruled the good, and all the times that led him to become… _this._ He snickered. He may have been defeated, but he was a king. He made a name for himself, didn't he? He doubted anyone would forget him any time soon. He caused so much destruction and despair upon that meager realm that the mortals would look twice at anything, in fear of another attack by the aliens- he had them right where he wanted them. He disappointed Thanos, so what? He would come up with another plan. It's not like would have anything else to do for a while.

Walking to the bridge with Thor and the Avengers was, not only humiliating, but awkward and silent. No words were needed to be said; the cities were safe. For the team of protectors, it was a relief- they had won- but for Loki, it was something else entirely. Not only did he loose, but he failed Thanos, who promised to find him if such a thing happened.

Avoiding all the "heroes" stares, he was pushed by Thor to the open area. Returning to Asgard was the last thing he wanted to do, but, he was defeated- what could he do? He couldn't speak through the metal muzzle scratching on his tongue he knew was bleeding, and he guessed SHIELD made it so that such a thing would happen. The trap was put on only a day ago, depriving Loki of words and breathing through his mouth for the last twenty-four hours or so, his blood dripping and drying on his cracked lips (which was a disgusting feeling, really).

Thor's eyes were not as he remembered them, ever. The last time he encountered his 'brother', his eyes held pain and longing, certain sadness behind them, but he could still see the life and wonder they held. However, standing there gripping one half of the Tesseract and looking up at Thor, he could see that his eyes were hollow…tired. That he was exhausted. No longer did they hold the gentleness of the oversized teddy-bear that Loki had grown up with, but they were hard as stone, firm. Almost like a king, he thought. How fitting. They turned the dials on the Tesseract and light emerged around them, drowning them in the bright colours. Such a familiar feeling it was, to be taken up by the Bifrost, being pushed through space to a land galaxies and worlds away at the speed of- what seemed like- light. He didn't dare close his eyes, because he knew that this wasn't going to be a reoccurring act anymore, and he most likely wouldn't be allowed 100 feet anywhere near the Bifrost in case of an escape. But, oh how he missed this feeling. It almost made him regret the day that Thor destroyed the bridge (how long did it take to rebuild that thing, anyway?), but then he remembered why it was that happened, and who betrayed him. Pushing that thought out of his mind, he prepared for the landing on Asgard, which came all too quickly for his liking. It seemed the Bifrost hadn't changed at all since it was destroyed, the designs very much similar, and anyone who wasn't paying very close attention could see the craftsmanship was…better. They walked across the floor to the opening, Hiemdall's large silhouette becoming closer and closer, his uniform and armour becoming more and more defined and visible. "Heimdall," Thor greeted, nodding to the man. "T'is good to see you again, my friend!" As usual, Heimdall didn't even glance at him.

"It is nice to be in your presence as well, my King. I trust your journey on Midgard went safely?"

"Aye, it did." He smiled, prideful. He then took Loki's arm and brought him forward towards the Rainbow Bridge, and he could _just _hear the sound of Heimdall's soft _goodbye_. They then started their journey on the Rainbow Road, one that would take at least three hours. This was going to be a long walk, Loki had a feeling. And he would be right. The walk would be long and silent, other than the occasional reprimanding from Thor, or his apologies for what has happened (As if that would make it better, Loki thought). But, finally, after Loki was sure that his knees were going to go limp under his weight, the arm cuffs had borne new cuts into his skin, and the gag had practically _shaved _his tongue where his mouth was around the small platform, they arrived at the huge building- the Asgardian palace. The place he grew up, but never belonged. Where his hopes and dreams were formed, and his imagination ran wild. The place he learned magic and knives-throwing, his once-home. Such beauty used to captivate him, inspire him to learn more, continue to move forward and never back down. Now, however, it stood for betrayal and hurt, a distant remembrance of what once was where stupid decisions were made and sins were committed, where crimes took place and regrets were formed. Where friendship broke and discoveries caused despair. This place… it was not his home. No, it was a battleground, the bridge bearing his own blood and the stories of him and Thor's once-glorious battle. Here, he was seen as a traitor. If he could've smirked behind the gag, he would have, for it was ironic, how this was no one's fault but his own. He and Thor made their way throughout the town before coming to a large golden gate of the palace, and Loki could see the guards flinching at his arrival, no matter how cuffed and chained he was. They eyed him warily, and he could sense their guard. One tightened his grip on his sword and the other changed which leg held weight. And this time, Loki _did _smirk (though it hurt). It seems his reputation upheld strongly while he was away. "My friends I would ask that you please let us pass," Thor announced, his confident voice booming in Loki's ears, causing a sick feeling in his stomach. "I must bring Loki to the Throne Room for his trial." The guards shot each other a glance before stepping past, opening the gate. The large doors creaked with age as they swept open, letting out cool air, and Thor and Loki walked past the guards into the great hall. They continued to walk until they came to the back passageways, the corridors that they would run about in when they were smaller, when the world was simpler. Thor led him to a grand wooden door, and threw them open with a smile, walking ahead of him.

Inside the room were a bed, a bathtub, and a vanity, accompanied only by the light in the small stain-glass window on the far wall. A servant's room, no doubt unoccupied. Thor motioned for Loki to follow him in, and for a spilt second he contemplated running, but the shackles on his feet convinced him otherwise. He stumbled in and Thor shut- and locked, he added- the door behind him, before taking Loki's ankle cuffs off, as well as his hands and mouthguard. Loki licked the blood off of his lips, the metallic taste filling his senses. "Why-" he cleared his throat, willing for his voice not to break. "Why have you brought me here?" He asked.

"To wash you, of course. You did not think you would be brought before the Allfather dirty, did you? You will be bathed and given new clothing to wear." Thor's smile was genuine, and Loki felt a pang of disdain in the pit of his stomach.

"I do not need to be washed," he spat, making his way to the bed. "What I need is rest." Thor stopped him before he could sit.

"Brother, you are to be trialed before the Allfather directly after your washing. I am sorry, but I have sworn oath to be responsible for you. I only wish the best for you, and if we hurry, then you may rest."

Loki rolled his eyes. "Of course you would swear oath," he murmured under his breath. But as he saw no choice in the matter, he stood, stripping himself of his jacket and overdress. His eyes caught Thor's as he did so, halfway into taking off his tunic. "Yes?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. Thor simply shook his head. He continued. Once he was all the way naked, Thor by then had drawn the bathwater and motioned for him to step in. He did, and the water was lukewarm, but Loki paid no mind to it as he grasped the yellow soap in his hand, washing himself.

By the time they made their way to the Throne Room, an hour had passed, and Loki had convinced Thor to let him keep his original outfit on. Their boots clicked on the polished floors and their shadows could just barely be seen cast on the walls of the golden palace, walking in the direction of the throne room. Loki's new chains rattled on as he walked, and his mouthguard rubbed against his jaw in ways that would be sure he would have some new scratches by morning. He wondered if Odin planned that fact, or if it was by coincidence. They finally made it to the grand entrance, the guards giving them a curt nod before opening the doors, and Loki winced as he came face to face with a crowd of people on each side of the pathway. Guards lined up in defense to the spot where Loki would kneel (oh, the irony, he thought.) and behind were Asgardians from each crevice of the town, he knew. They were all here to see his downfall. Their would-be-king, the prince they once so adored would most likely be executed. Who would miss it?

Loki sneered from behind the mouthguard, and was immediately thankful it was there because if anyone had seen the sneer, it would be set in stone that he would be executed. Thor pushed him along, and they walked to the center of the room, in front of the Allfather. Thor pushed Loki into a kneeling position, though Loki did not put his hand over his heart in respect. He simply looked up at the Allfather, and hoped he could feel his defiance. Two guards came and took of Loki's mouthguard, and he allowed it (the thing was a pain, anyways) without a word.

"Loki Odinson," Odin started, giving him a stern- or was it sorrowful?- look.

"Laufeyson," Loki corrected. "Loki _Laufeyson_." Oh, yes. Definitely sorrow.

Odin gave a soft sigh. "Loki Laufeyson, you are trialed for betrayal, invasion, and murder. Do you agree to this?"

"Aye."

"And you are aware of the consequences for your actions?" Loki nodded. "I see. You know that execution is your punishment, but, as you have done many times in the past, I will settle a deal with you, if you will." Loki raised in eyebrow in interest, nodding to let him know to explain the deal.

"I will either have you executed, or you will be banished to Joutnheim, in the deepest prisons they acquire."

The room was filled with a gasp.

Loki's eyes widened at the proposal- it was something that he was not only not expecting, but shocked him as well. "Which would you prefer?" Odin asked, and Loki opened his mouth, but he could find no words to speak. How could he choose? If he chose execution, the whole realm would come to watch, and members from many other realms, he knew. But he would be put out of this madness, this glorious sadness that weighed him down like an anchor. However, if he chose banishment, he would live, and, someday, be released. That didn't sound like anything he wanted. But was he ready to die? Was it truly his time to go? Would he mind standing up on that pedestal, a rope around his throat, ready to be hung, or his head in a guillotine?

No. No, he thought, he wasn't ready to die yet. He looked back up at the Allfather, his emerald eyes meeting his hazel one.

"I chose to be banished," he breathed, and it was settled. Glanced were given and gasps were heard, disappointment in some. "I will be banished to Joutnheim."


End file.
